


Paco Dean and the Ghost of Arson Danny

by Septembers_coda



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Big Brother Dean, Curtain Fic, Gen, Hurt!Sam, Hurt/Comfort, POV Outsider, Season/Series 01, Season/Series 02, casefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 06:03:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Septembers_coda/pseuds/Septembers_coda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set sometime in late Season 1 or early Season 2. Stuck in a rural desert town, in a wheelchair, with Dean on some home improvement kick—it sounds like Sam’s worst nightmare. But Dean is, surprisingly, in his element, and Sam gets much more than he was expecting out of his stay in the tiny town of Bicknell, Utah—which, since it’s the Winchesters, naturally holds some surprises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paco Dean and the Ghost of Arson Danny

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ user tesserae_. I have spent a fair bit of time in the part of southern Utah where this story is set. It’s sort of my love song to the Utah desert. Sam feels how I feel about it. :-)

Marian looked up as the handsome young man came into the hardware store for the second time that day. She was a hard-edged, no-nonsense gal who was more interested in working with her hands than painting them up to look pretty, and men usually didn’t respond too well when she knew more about carpentry, tools and such than they did. And she wasn’t a cute little twenty-something anymore. So she’d thought she was past that heart-skipping-a-beat, sweaty-palms reaction to guys. Not many guys in Bicknell, Utah were likely to give her palpitations anyway.

But this fellow… well, he wasn’t the usual rural Utah type. Nothing like the bewildered, where’s-a-Starbucks, passing-through-on-the-way-to-this-or-that-National-Park type, either. She’d known plenty of denim-clad, slightly rough-looking guys, but the denim usually came with a cowboy hat, rather than a leather jacket and biker boots. And here in the land of Jeeps and pick-ups, she doubted a car like that black-and-chrome beauty he drove passed through town more than every few years or so—and when it did, it wouldn’t stop for more than gas.

She guessed, after all, she wasn’t past appreciating a damn good-looking man. She’d have been content to have a look and give him some help finding what he wanted, but she was already getting a little more than that. He’d actually _winked_ at her when she’d recommended a good nail gun, and Marian wasn’t too good at picking up on hints, but the look in his eye when he’d said something about how he’d “nail it good”… hard to misinterpret that. He’d said he’d be back, but she figured she wouldn’t be lucky enough to be on shift when he did.

But here he was. “Hey, Marian,” he said with a cheeky smile, as if they were old friends. “Know where in town I can get some lumber?”

“I can make some calls,” she answered, as casually as she could. “What you need the lumber for?”

“Gotta build a wheelchair ramp,” he said, and his expression clouded a bit. Damn. He was even prettier without all the swagger. “Doesn’t have to be anything fancy.”  
“What for?” she asked curiously.

“Oh, uh… my little brother. Damn kid got himself banged up by a—uh, kayaking accident. Shattered his leg so bad he can’t even do crutches for a couple weeks. I gotta rig something up to get him in and out of the place I’m fixing up.”

Marian frowned. She’d been around extreme-sports nuts all her life, and wasn’t sure how you’d shatter your leg kayaking. But it wasn’t her business, for sure.

“Well, a ramp’s easy, ‘specially if it’s temporary. I can call around; get what you need here in the shop, if you want. Guessing Jack could get it here by tomorrow. Best you’ll do, ‘less you wanna drive to Cedar City.” 

The man shook his head. “Wrong direction. Sam’s in Richfield.”

She nodded. “He at Sevier?” It was the only real hospital nearby.

“Yep. Hey, Marian, if you could get that lumber for me, that’d be great.” He handed her a business card. “That’s my cell number. Mind calling me when it comes in?”

Her heart skipped a beat again when he turned that thousand-watt smile on her, full-blast. “Sure,” she managed, gruffly. “Give ya a call in the morning.”

“Thanks.” He sauntered out.

~* * *~

Sam blinked hazily as the sound of Dean’s voice reached him through the thick fog of painkillers. “What?” he groaned, trying to roll over. He’d forgotten the cast, and grunted in pain and frustration.

“I said this place could come in handy in the future, if we ever work a case in this area again. I tell ya, Sammy, it’s really coming together.”

Sam squinted, trying to bring Dean into focus and his memory up to the present moment. He was in the hospital, and remembered all too vividly why. He and Dean had tracked a particularly violent werewolf to some tiny town in the middle of the desert. Dean had managed to put the thing down, but not before Sam got into a knock-down drag-out with it, where it had clawed him up pretty good before tossing him off the roof of a three-story building. He’d heard Dean’s shot as he fell. Grabbing the edge of the roof on the way down had only dislocated his shoulder, and knowing how to land had only meant he broke his leg instead of dying.

Dean’s panic was the worst part of the memory. Swimming through a red haze of pain, trying to find his tongue to tell Dean he was all right… and why would he say that, exactly? He wasn’t. But Dean’s hoarse shouts, his grip on Sam’s shoulder that made him scream in pain, and made Dean hysterically apologize… that reaction was worse than the injuries. 

“Dean! I’m OK!”

“You are so far from OK, Sammy,” Dean said, struggling to calm himself. “Shit, Sam… that’s your shinbone I can see through your skin. We’re gonna need a hospital for this one.”

Sam cursed, a long string of foul words more of Dean’s usual lexicon than his own. He knew Dean was right. A compound fracture was way outside the bounds of what they could deal with on their own. But he despised hospitals, and being laid-up, and being fussed over by Dean, and everything else about this damn situation.

What he hated worst was the surrender into unconsciousness, so he held out against it for as long as he could. He blacked out when Dean straightened his leg to splint it, and woke up to his own screams as Dean carried him to the car. He choked them off to tell Dean, again, that he was all right. The terrified look Dean shot him as he eased him into the back seat showed that he didn’t believe him. And rightly so. Sam wasn’t sure he’d make it through this one.

Things were a little blurry after that. He knew they’d told him he’d need surgery, and he was so terrified, hallucinating from the pain, that he’d fought hysterically; he’d knocked an orderly across the room, and only Dean himself was able to hold him down. “Sammy, it’s OK. I got this. This doctor’s cool, I checked him out. I swear, bro. I wouldn’t let some quack touch you. He’s gonna take care of you. Just calm down…” 

Sam wasn’t sure whether it was Dean’s words, or the tranquilizer shot, but he had calmed down, apparently had his surgery, and now here he was, and Dean was talking about… building a ramp?

“…so tomorrow I just gotta put it together, then when you get released, you’ll be able to get in and out OK. Don’t know exactly how I’m gonna fit the wheelchair in the Impala; maybe I can get the fold-up kind…”

“What? _What?_ A wheelchair?!” Sam sat half up, fighting panic. The fog of painkillers receded, and he looked down at himself.

He was in _traction._ No. God, no…

“Hey, Sammy, we can have one of those handicapped hanging signs, and it’ll be legit, even! Always felt like too much of a dick to fake that…” 

Dean stopped talking as he glanced at Sam. His enthusiasm melted instantly at whatever he saw on his face. “Sam… I told you this already. About the chair. You even got in it and wheeled around yesterday. ” Dean swallowed and looked down.

Sam forced himself to calm down, looking away from his leg suspended above the bed. “I don’t remember,” he mumbled, trying to swallow the sullenness he could hear in his own voice. “Too many painkillers, I guess.”

“Well, at least they’re workin’. You’ll only need the chair for a couple of weeks, Sam. It was that, or stay here. And I know how much you hate hospitals. So, we’re having a little unplanned vacation.”

“In the middle of the desert, in Utah? Isn’t that where Mormons live? I don’t think Mormons will like us very much, Dean.”

“No one likes us, Sammy, why should Mormons be any different? But I made a friend or two already. It’s not so bad. Apparently people come here on purpose, to look at nature and stuff. It helped with what I told the hardware store lady. Kayaking accident. Saw some college kids with a kayak on the roof of their car, so I figured… anyway, she bought it, sort of.”

“Didn’t you tell the doctors I got hit by a car?”

Dean looked uncomfortable. “Oh, yeah.”

“Why didn’t you just say I fell off the roof? You wouldn’t have to tell them a werewolf threw me.”

“Nah, you took care of that while you were freaking out when they took you to surgery. ‘Dean, did you get it? Did you get the werewolf? Don’t let it bite you! Dean, you gotta shoot me if it bit me! There’s another night of full moon! Don’t let me bite anyone else!’” 

Dean’s voice took on a high-pitched, mock-hysteria that was, Sam thought, exaggerated and entirely unnecessary. “Shut up,” he growled.

“It didn’t bite you, by the way. In case you don’t remember. It’s a good thing our lives are so damn freaky, Sam. No one would ever believe anything you said ‘under the influence.’ The nurse asked me if you were a horror fan. Said they had some sci-fi geek in here with a high fever last month, describing some really long, involved Star Wars fantasy that got so detailed, all the nurses were standing by the door to hear how the story turned out. They were disappointed when he couldn’t remember anything once he was lucid.”

Sam sighed. Dean and his motor-mouth. When he was upset about something (like Sam being hurt), he could blather non-stop about trivialities—anything but what he was actually feeling—until he was blue in the face. Or at least until Sam was—from holding his breath and hoping to pass out. He gritted his teeth. The next few weeks were definitely going to test his tolerance…

“Anyway, I couldn’t say you just fell off the roof, because that thing really did a number on you, Sam. Wouldn’t explain how ripped up you were.”

“Would being hit by a car—or a kayaking accident—explain it any better?”

“Next time I’m on the ground, slashed up with bones coming through my skin, and you’re trying to get me to the hospital alive, _you_ come up with a good cover story!”

Sam winced. As much as he hated being in that bed, knowing he wouldn’t walk for weeks or months, the idea of trading places with Dean was worse. He hunted around for a change of subject. “So… where are you building this wheelchair ramp?”

Dean got excited again. “I told you! It’s this cool old farmhouse. It needs a lot of work, but the guy said if I do some stuff, we can stay there for free. I fixed up the wiring, so I can get utilities set up, and I’ll get the ramp built, and it’ll be cool, Sam! It has a breakfast nook and everything.”

“What the hell are _you_ gonna do with a breakfast nook? Sit in it while you drink your morning fifth of Jack?” Sam had no idea why he was being such a dick. He couldn’t seem to stop himself.

Dean took it in stride, though, giving Sam a smug smirk. “You don’t know. Maybe I’ll learn to make pancakes.”

Sam endured the next couple of days in the hospital as best he could. Dean spent a lot of time away, coming back each evening covered in sawdust or splatters of plaster, with reports of the house’s progress. Sam had never known Dean had interests (or skills—though he guessed the latter remained to be seen) in this area. He began to worry about the amount of work Dean was doing.

“Seriously, Dean? We can’t stay for long, why are you putting so much into this?”

“Wait ‘til you see it, Sam. It was a crap-hole before. I took before-pictures so you could see the difference. You won’t mind resting up there for a while. I put up a satellite dish and everything, got a decent-sized TV that someone in town let me have for cheap. You can lay around and watch Oprah.” He smirked.

Sam felt too guilty to rise to the Oprah bait. “Well… thanks for doing all that… I just don’t know if you should’ve bothered.”

“C’mon, Sam! You haven’t even met Marian yet.” He grinned. “She’s a little older, but kinda hot. I like tough chicks. Thinkin’ about hittin’ that.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Great.”

Dean had explained all about Marian, the part-owner of a local hardware-store who had helped him out. It turned out she was related to the guy who owned the farmhouse (no surprise in a town this size) and had agreed to be Dean’s “handyman” (handywoman?) and advisor on all the home improvement. Apparently she knew a lot. Considering the life he and Dean had led, this was all weirder to Sam than wendigos and demons… he had no idea what to think.

“I’m gonna get you outta here tomorrow if I can. I’ll go find that doctor, see if he thinks you’re ready. No more Jell-O for you, Sam. Time to get back out in the world and quit slackin’.” Dean strode out.

Sam sighed. He was more than ready to leave the hospital, but he was not looking forward to what would happen when he did. Now that his mind was clear, he remembered testing out the wheelchair, and it was ridiculously awkward. He thought of himself as being in good shape, but his arms ached after only a little while of wheeling himself around, and he was so easily exhausted. He knew he couldn’t expect better, healing from an injury of this magnitude, but he hated it, and dreaded depending on Dean for everything. He prayed he would heal quickly.

~* * *~

“Dean! I can do it myself! Just put the chair by the door!”

“And watch you dump yourself on your ass? I’d get a hernia picking you up from the ground, you freakin’ moose. Just chill out!”

Dean lifted Sam carefully out of the Impala and set him in the chair, fussing over the positioning of his leg in its cast. Sam slapped his hands away. They hadn’t even crossed the threshold yet, and they were fighting already. Sam could see this was going to be domestic bliss.

He looked around himself curiously, and was impressed despite himself. Signs of Dean’s efforts were everywhere. The scent of cut wood filled the air. Dean insisted on pushing Sam in his chair, and for once Sam let him without argument. He wheeled Sam up the newly-built ramp, and Sam was surprised at how steady it felt beneath him. It was neat and professional-looking, too. 

“I just finished two rooms—this one and the front bedroom, where you’re gonna be. Oh, and the bathroom’s almost done. I’ll work on the rest of it while you’re getting better.”

Sam’s eyebrows climbed to his hairline as he looked around. The outside of the farmhouse looked dilapidated, with Dean’s recent efforts at renovation standing out against the rest of it. This room looked like it belonged in a _nice_ house. At Dean’s insistence, he’d looked at the “before” pictures. It was unrecognizable. Dean had mended broken floorboards, put new windows in framing he’d repaired, and sanded and varnished the hardwood floor. There was some furniture, including the promised TV, and a big rug in the middle of the floor. He’d even hung _curtains._

“You did all this?” Sam asked disbelievingly.

“Little faith, Sammy,” Dean said cheerfully. “Like it?”

“It’s… really nice.”

“Let me show you your room. You’re gonna love it.”

Sam didn’t know what to say when Dean wheeled him into the bedroom. He felt… incredibly touched. The room, finished as nicely as the front room had been and smelling even more strongly of fresh-cut wood, reflected his tastes surprisingly well. There was even a bookshelf, newly handmade, next to the bed, stocked with some used paperbacks, and a quick glance at the titles showed that Dean had actually paid attention to what Sam liked to read. He never would have suspected it. 

Then there was the bed. It was made (slightly messily—Sam couldn’t recall Dean ever making a bed in his life, and his inexperience showed) with a nice, new-looking comforter. Sam could tell that Dean had built a platform and put the full-size mattress on it. But something about it looked odd.

“I built it special, since your feet are always hanging off the end of the bed,” Dean said. “But I couldn’t find an extra-long mattress, so…” He lifted the edge of the comforter to show the end of the bed platform. Pillows were stacked to mattress-height, neatly filling the extra space at the end of the bed. “Should be comfortable. And look! Marian doesn’t know about this part, so be careful when she’s here.”

He peeled the covers back from the side of a bed and slid open a panel built into the bottom of the platform, under the mattress. He pulled out a shotgun. “Just in case,” Dean said. “Salt, holy water, silver knife—everything you need in easy reach.” He gave Sam a big grin as he slid the gun back in the compartment.

Again, Sam was touched. He was surprised to feel a lump in his throat. He never would have expected that Dean knew him so well, or would go to this much trouble for him. He worried that Dean was overcompensating, due to guilt he felt at “letting” the werewolf get hold of Sam. Perhaps even for taking Sam away from Stanford, and back into this life, in the first place. It had all been his choice, and nothing was Dean’s fault, but Sam knew his brother was extremely skilled at holding onto guilt, much as he would deny it.

“Dean, umm… thanks. This is… awesome.”

Dean beamed like a kid getting praised for his hand-made Mother’s Day present made of glued macaroni and Popsicle sticks. “I was thinking, Sam. I don’t think Jack’s gonna be able to sell this place, out in the middle of nowhere like it is. Even if I make the whole thing nicer. So… maybe… I dunno. Maybe would could rent it long-term, and come back here between cases. It’s out of the way; no one would bother us here. Maybe… if I came up with some money, maybe we could even buy it.” He looked a little sheepish, like he expected to immediately be shot down. 

Sam chose a careful redirect, seeing no reason to immediately crush Dean’s fantasy. “Where did you get the money for all this? Materials and tools and all.” He toed the comforter with his good foot.

“Catalogs and stores in Cedar City are happy to sell their fine goods to Paco D. Martinello,” Said Dean, pulling a credit card out of his pocket and flashing it at Sam.

_“Paco?”_

“Always wanted to be a Paco.”

“Is that what Marian calls you?”

“Nah. I told her I go by my middle name—Dean, of course. And I’ve been hustling some pool over in Loa to pay her for her work, and for stuff in her shop. I don’t want her to get hosed if the credit card companies don’t pay or something.”

Sam decided not to point out what a ridiculous name “Paco Dean” was, nor ask how someone with Dean’s looks would end up so christened. He was too caught up in looking around the pretty little room. Dean watched his face for a moment. He was smiling, but his smile soon faded, as Sam saw his eyes catch on his cast. 

Dean cleared his throat. “I made the platform kinda low, so hopefully you could get yourself from the chair to the bed,” he said. “Looks like it’ll work OK. Ummm… you wanna set up in here, or out in the living room?”

The afternoon passed strangely peacefully. The fights Sam had predicted didn’t materialize. Dean was almost bizarrely cheerful, and Sam found he didn’t mind sitting around nearly as much as he’d thought he would. He set up at the table in the living room with his laptop, and surprisingly, he got a Wi-Fi signal. He hadn’t expected that out here. It was nice to browse the web for something besides paranormal research for once. He even took the plunge and replied (vaguely, of course) to a few e-mails from some of his old Stanford friends. Somehow, being hurt took him outside his life for a while. He hadn’t thought about the Yellow-eyed Demon in days, and found no need to go back to thinking about it just yet. It seemed Dean had created, against all odds, a little pocket of peace that he could share. For now. 

He didn’t even complain about the noise of Dean’s Sawzall (he was obsessed with the thing, regaling Sam with how he’d used it to make his bed, bookcase, and the wheelchair platform, and was now using it to build a cabinet in the bathroom), or all the accompanying hammering and pounding. Dean whistled while he did it, and his happiness permeated the other sounds, until Sam almost liked listening to the construction noise. _This_ was what Dean should be doing. All the time. And if Sam had any say, someday he would. After they killed the Yellow-eyed Demon and resolved that mystery. For the first time, Sam was determined, not just to leave hunting himself, but to make sure Dean did, too. All his claims to the contrary, Sam knew Dean did sometimes long for a different life. He never could have imagined him finding it in rural Utah, but if Dean was happy here, Sam was all for it.

Sam paused in his web-browsing to listen when Dean stopped working to answer his cell phone. He couldn’t hear the words clearly, but he heard sharp concern color Dean’s voice. Dean came out of the bathroom a minute later.

“Sam, you think you can hang out here alone for an hour or two? Don’t wanna leave ya, but something’s come up with Marian and she’s pretty upset. There was a fire at the lumber mill where her brother works, where she’s been getting my lumber. Her brother got hurt—not too bad; he got out OK. But the fire is huge; the mill’s a total loss and the firefighters are afraid it’ll turn into a wildfire. Big problem out here.” He stopped. “I… don’t have to go, I guess. But I got a feeling—this could be something. I didn’t tell you this, but… I think there’s some ghost activity in these parts. When I first checked this place out… well, I might’ve gotten a little EMF. Not enough to make me worry…”

He was babbling nervously again. Sam cut him off. “It’s fine, Dean. Go check it out. I’ll be fine.”

“Really? I’ll make a salt line and load your shotgun with rock salt, just in case.”

“I can load it. Just gimme the shells.”

Dean obeyed, handing Sam the gun and shells, and quickly made a salt line around the living room. “OK. Gotta run,” he said. “I shouldn’t be long.”

Sam loaded the gun and set it on the table next to him. He listened to the silence, deeper here than anywhere he had ever been. The desert wind blew softly through the window. Straining his ears, Sam could barely hear the occasional passing car on the distant state highway, and as evening approached, a strangely sweet cooing of birds that he eventually decided must be doves of some kind. Though he was worried about Dean, he felt himself growing uncomfortably attached to this place. Its beauty grew on him slowly. At first glance, the land seemed parched-dry and empty, the little towns huddled there hopelessly isolated, immeasurably distant from the rest of the world. But the red dirt, and the boulders of many soft, fiery colors strewn among the sparse, spiny vegetation, were all set against a backdrop of dramatic, rainbow-colored mesas, all the brighter under the bluest sky Sam had ever seen. The desert silence soothed him deeply. It wasn’t so bad, being far from the world. He felt no compelling need to return.

True to his word, Dean was back before long, just as darkness was settling in. Sam heard voices as the car door closed. Dean must have brought someone with him, presumably Marian. He mentally confirmed this as a woman in her thirties stepped in behind Dean. She was wiry, and as Dean had implied, tough-looking, and rather pretty, despite obviously not being the type to care about her looks. She had brown hair in a no-nonsense braid, bleached blondish by sun exposure, and she was freckled and tan, like most people in this sun-drenched clime. A large, heavy tool belt was slung over her jeans. For some reason, her eyes widened when she saw Sam. 

She recovered quickly. “You must be Sam. I’m Marian. Heard a lot about you. Sorry to have to meet you when I’m out of sorts.” Sam saw the tracks of tears on her face as she came forward and shook his hand.

“No problem. Sorry about the fire. Was anyone badly hurt?”

Her face darkened. “Yes. Well, my brother Aaron was probably worst hurt, and he’s OK, but there was a person killed. My aunt, Jack’s wife, Lizzie.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Well, I expect she’s with God now. But this is hard on Jack. He just lost his son, my cousin Danny, ‘bout a year ago. He died in a fire, too, but… well, that’s different, and I don’t mourn him too much anyhow, tell you the truth. Now the mill and Lizzie are gone, poor Jack doesn’t have much left, except this place. So I’m real glad Dean’s fixin’ it up for him; maybe that’ll be some comfort.”

She seemed to be chattering nervously. Sam met Dean’s eye over her shoulder as she spoke. Dean nodded meaningfully.

“Why don’t you sit down, Marian. Can I get you a drink?” He winced after he said it, recalling that he probably _couldn’t_ easily get her a drink.

“I’ll get it,” said Dean, and went into the kitchen as Marian sat on the couch across from Sam.

“Dean tells me you two do some P.I. work when you’re not kayaking in crazy white water,” Marian said, glancing at his cast. “Ever investigate an arson before?”

Sam’s heart contracted, thinking of Jess and his mother. “Not exactly, but we’ll help if we can. You think the mill fire was arson, then?”

“Got my reasons to think it. Fire safety is serious business when you own a lumber mill, and Jack’s been doing this near forty years. He’s good at it, never had a fire before. And…” She hesitated.

Here it is, thought Sam. “And what?” he prodded gently. He was better at this part of it than Dean was, even though Dean knew Marian better. This was probably why Dean had left them alone together.

“Well. My cousin Danny, that died in the fire last year? He was an arsonist. Ever since we were little kids, he liked to set things on fire. He wasn’t exactly right in the head, but Lizzie and Jack never gave up on him—not until he moved from old ruins and setting flash fires in fields to burning real buildings, ones that affected people’s livelihoods.”

“Did he set the fire he died in?” Sam asked.

“Yep. Maybe he meant to die in it, even. See, he was out on bail before the trial for the arson charges. No one had been hurt yet, so Jack and Lizzie posted his bail and let him come home. But they knew he was guilty, and it came out that they were gonna be called to testify against him. Danny couldn’t take it. He stole Jack’s truck and drove out to an old abandoned granary by Torrey and set it on fire. He didn’t make it out. Even his bones burned up.”

Well, that last bit ruined the easiest solution Sam had in mind. Most likely, Danny’s ghost had set the fire, but Sam didn’t figure that was Marian’s theory, and she obviously had one. “What do you think the connection is, between that fire and this new mill fire?” 

Marian shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I’m ashamed to say it, but I was wondering if, you know… maybe arson runs in the family.”

“Did Danny have any siblings?”

“Nope. Only family he had was Lizzie, Jack, me, and Aaron. Our parents divorced when I was little, and our mom, Jack’s sister, died three years ago. So I guess… well, that makes me a suspect, doesn’t it?” 

She looked weary. She glanced up at Dean as he came back in, and gratefully accepted the mug of coffee he handed her. Sam and Dean exchanged another look.

“We know you didn’t set it, Marian,” said Dean. “And if the police come sniffin’ around, you have an alibi; you were working in the hardware store when it happened. Who do _you_ think set it?”

Marian bowed her head. Tears started in her eyes. “I don’t want to think it. But… well. Lizzie’s been drinking a lot since Danny died. We’re mostly a dry town, you know. It’s not official, can’t be. But it’s not so easy to get booze around here.” 

Dean looked horrified. Sam felt Dean’s dream of living here die a quick and bloody death.

“But Lizzie, she found ways to get it. She… wasn’t right. She talked crazy sometimes, and she never did get over Danny, and feeling bad that she and Jack were gonna testify against him. The anniversary of Danny dying; it’s comin’ up here soon. Lizzie runs the mill with Jack and knows her business, so why wouldn’t she know how to make it out of the fire? And… the firefighters say she was in the office with the door locked, like she didn’t even try to get out.”

Sam glanced at Dean, who looked thoughtful. Maybe Marian had figured it out, exactly. Maybe this wasn’t their kind of case after all. Might as well make sure, though.

“I’m sorry, Marian,” Sam said gently. “We’ll ask a few questions and look around at the mill before we decide anything.” There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Sam shifted in his chair and added, “Or… Dean will. We should probably talk to Aaron, see if he saw anything.”

“This cousin of yours,” said Dean. “Danny. You spend a lot of time with him, growing up? You said he was always into fire.”

“Yep. Well, we did spend time together, sure. He was a little older than me, but there weren’t many kids our age, so we saw each other a lot.” She seemed about to say more, but bit her lip into silence.

“Yeah?” Dean encouraged her. “You were good friends?”

“No, I can’t say so. Danny was… he was just never right. I didn’t like him much. When Aaron wasn’t around, I… I tried not to be alone with him. He had a mean streak. I don’t take to that kind of treatment, so Danny and me, we fought a lot. And he didn’t like to lose, and… well. I’m pretty strong.” She set her jaw and glanced between the brothers, as if expecting them to deny it. Dean just raised his eyebrows and nodded. She seemed satisfied. 

“So by the time we were grown-up, we didn’t talk anymore. I think… well, there were things that happened that I knew about, that I think Danny was always afraid I’d tell about. I didn’t, of course. What good does it do to know who set a field on fire, 20 years after it happened? We’re just lucky he never set anything bad off, like that Hayman fire in Colorado. So I tried to get him to stop setting fires, and he didn’t like me telling him what to do, so we stopped talking.” She sighed. “I always wondered if I should say something to Jack and Lizzie, but they knew. They just couldn’t control him, either.”

They talked a bit more, pretending it was casual. Sam and Dean tried to draw more information out of Marian about Danny and his childhood, and subsequent descent into batshit-crazy-firebug territory. They still couldn’t be sure his ghost wasn’t the culprit. Dean agreed to go with Marian the next day to talk to her brother and see if they could learn anything.

Sam did a little related research on his laptop while Dean looked around town over the next several days. Things moved slower than usual for a case of theirs. Aaron didn’t reveal much when Dean talked to him; he was annoyingly closed-mouthed about the experience, but he was mourning his aunt, so they couldn’t hound him too much. Local cops confirmed that the fire had been set on purpose, but were unable to determine anything further. Sam privately thought that, being familiar with the people in this area, they were reluctant to lay the blame where they thought it belonged. There were no other fires or strange incidents for more than a week, so Sam and Dean began to hope that, tragic as it was, Marian’s original suspicions were right, and Lizzie had set the fire that killed her.

Meanwhile, Sam was almost enjoying his convalescence. Dean definitely was. When not investigating, he finished the bathroom he’d been working on and moved on to other projects, busily sawing, hammering, and painting all day long. Marian came over to help nearly every day for an hour or two. Sam didn’t really like the hopeful way her eyes lingered on Dean. He supposed there weren’t many dating opportunities for a smart, capable woman in a tiny town like this one, but she could have no idea what a bad risk Dean was. Well, hopefully there wasn’t much harm Dean could do in a short time… except this was already not as short a time as usual. But he hadn’t made a move, as far as Sam could tell, and if he did, Sam knew from experience that there was nothing he could do to stop it.

It continued to bother him, though, as he began to know Marian a little better. He liked her, and she liked him. It was simply pleasant to be around her, in the same way that it was pleasant, and healing to Sam’s soul, to be in this place. Marian belonged here, intrinsically. She was a hard worker, and kept busy with Dean mostly, but sometimes, she seemed to be trying to find something to do in the same room as Sam, so she could chat with him while she worked. She was curious about everything; Sam had to spend a fair bit of time dodging her questions, at first—about kayaking, for example, about which he knew almost nothing. Eventually she learned what the touchy subjects were, and began to chat with him about other things. She was curious about college life—she confessed to Sam that she’d thought about going to college herself—and asked Sam a lot about Stanford. In the end, she knew more about his life there than Dean ever had.

Sam couldn’t be sure, but he thought the way she looked at him had changed, too. She didn’t seem to see him as just Dean’s little brother, or an invalid. But she definitely looked at Dean with longing sometimes, so Sam finally asked Dean about it.

“So,” he said, one night after she’d left. “You and Marian… anything going on there?”

“Nah,” said Dean, neatly putting his tools away on the table in the living room. “I decided I’m not gonna make a move. It could get too complicated real fast. Besides… I dunno, maybe she deserves better than me.”

Sam was shocked. He couldn’t even respond for a moment. Could it be Dean was actually gaining some maturity? He’d had no idea Dean ever thought of himself as not good enough for anything, and it troubled him, but in this case, there wasn’t much he could say. Finally he just said, “Yeah, I guess we’ll be moving on too soon, anyway.”

~* * *~  
It had been almost two weeks, and it seemed like the arson case was going to fizzle out, when Dean came in one afternoon, looking worried. “Trouble, Sammy,” he announced.

“What is it?”

“Another fire. And I think it _is_ Danny’s ghost.”

“Oh, no. Why?”

“The fire happened in Aaron’s house. He’s lucky he and his family made it out in time. He woke up and the house was full of smoke. Also… he finally talked to me.” Dean looked grim. “He did see something in the mill fire. Pretty sure it was Danny.”

Dean told the story then, of how Aaron, nearly passed out and blind from smoke inhalation, had been trying to find his way to the office, because he had heard Lizzie screaming and rattling the door. He had been stumbling around, blindly trying to reach his aunt, when the firefighters had dragged him out. When Aaron had hysterically pleaded with them to go back for Lizzie, they had been unable to reach her before part of the building between them and the office collapsed.

“What’s more,” said Dean, “I’m pretty sure Aaron saw the ghost. He said that he kept hallucinating, when he was trying to get to the office, and that’s why he got confused and couldn’t get there to help Lizzie. The doctors convinced him it was all because of smoke inhalation. So I asked him directly if he saw Danny. Could tell by the way he freaked out that I hit the mark.”

“Great. How are we gonna figure out what he left behind? We’ve gotta get this solved, Dean. He’ll be after Aaron again before you know it, and Marian will be next, or maybe Jack.”

“Jack and Aaron are safe for now. Aaron said he was gonna take his wife and kids and split. They’re going to his wife’s parents’ place for a while. I asked Marian about Jack. He’s been so upset about everything—and now he doesn’t have a mill to run—so he went to stay with an old friend in Salt Lake for a couple of weeks. Danny can’t reach him there. But… Marian, yeah.” Dean looked concerned. “She’s a smart one, Sam. And maybe more open-minded than most people. I never said anything about Danny, or of course about a ghost, while she was around. But I think she suspects something, from little things she’s said. And she knows she’s the only person left in town with a connection to this. I tried to get her to go to Salt Lake with Jack, but she got really mad at me. Said she doesn’t run away, and that she still has a business to run.” 

Dean sighed. “I don’t like lying to her, but I don’t see how we can tell her the truth. Or even really ask her what we need to know. She looked at me like I was crazy, when I asked if Jack or Lizzie might have a lock of Danny’s hair or anything like that. But I did find out that Jack still lives in the house where Danny was raised, so I’m gonna go out there and sniff around. Think you can keep her here while I do? Don’t want her to get suspicious and come after me.”

“I can handle it. Just get her here.”

~* * *~

Sam was nervous, though, when Marian arrived. Dean had renewed the salt lines, and made sure Sam had plenty of iron weaponry and his rock-salt loaded shotgun close to hand. As an afterthought, Sam had grabbed a fire extinguisher he’d seen under the kitchen sink. Dean was the one who really needed it; he wished he’d thought to send it with him. 

Instantly Marian questioned everything. It seemed she’d noticed a number of odd things, like the salt lines (“Uh, it’s a religious thing. Dean has some, uh, Eastern beliefs.” Marian squinted at him.) and if she’d kept her mouth shut before, now, after Sam told her she might be in danger until they “identified” the arsonist, all bets were off.

“Listen here, Sam Martinello,” Sam blinked, then remembered Dean’s ridiculous pseudonym. “It’s time you leveled with me. I know the salt ain’t any religious ritual, and I don’t have any idea why Dean would be askin’ me about locks of Danny’s hair and whatnot. But I also know you didn’t get attacked by a _kayak._ Someone hurt you on purpose, and there’s a whole lot you boys ain’t tellin’ me. If my life’s in danger like you say it is, then it’s only right you tell me the real reason why.”

Sam looked at her for a long moment. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “Look—” 

He was interrupted by a crashing sound. He grabbed Marian’s arm as the lights flickered. The room suddenly grew cold. “Stay inside the salt line,” Sam said sharply, as Marian stepped forward. “You’re right; it’s not religious. Not exactly. It protects from ghosts. If you want to know the truth, I’ll tell you, but we don’t have time for the long explanation. I need you to trust me.”

“Short and sweet then,” said Marian, backing up until she stood against the back of the wheelchair. She leaned over and grabbed the shotgun from the table.

“Supernatural things that you’ve heard of, like ghosts, are real. Dean and I hunt them. We’re pretty sure Danny’s ghost set both fires. He’s a vengeful spirit; he went after Lizzie, Jack, and Aaron, and now he’s coming after you. That’s why the lights, and the cold. I think he’s coming.”

“Well,” said Marian, cocking the shotgun expertly, “I didn’t let him bully me when he was alive, and I don’t intend to start now. But can a gun hurt a ghost?” 

Sam was impressed. Marian had barely blinked at his explanation, and she looked tough and determined now. “Not usually, but that gun is loaded with rock salt. Salt hurts them, and iron, but only temporarily. Usually you get rid of a ghost by salting and burning their bones, but Danny’s bones were burned when he died. So we don’t know what’s keeping him here. Usually it’s a part of them. That’s why Dean asked you about a lock of hair.”

“Well, I don’t know of anything like that!” Marian was keeping her cool, but a note of fear had crept into her voice as a cold wind swept through the house. She jumped when there was a static charge… and there Danny was. He leered at them, and dropped a phantom match on the floor.

Sam was ready with the fire extinguisher; he sprayed the spot before any flames could catch. Marian blasted the ghost with the shotgun. It shrieked and disappeared. “Good job, Marian! Keep your eyes open! He’ll be back. Just blast him as soon as you see him.”

“Can do,” Marian answered, cocking the gun again.

“Listen. Dean is out at Jack’s looking for what might be keeping Danny here. If he can burn it, Danny will be gone for good. He’ll be at rest. Anything you can think of that would help—something that was really important to Danny? Something that might have his blood or hair on it? If you could give Dean somewhere to look—”

Marian looked blank for a minute, her eyes resting on Sam’s leg cast. Sam had another thought. “Wait, Marian. Why is Danny here? Dean got some EMF out here—that’s like a ghost radio wave—when he first got here, so a ghost has been here. But why? Danny wouldn’t know you’d be here, and he’s after the family—”

_“Of course!”_ Marian shouted suddenly. “Sam! I know what to do! We have to get out to the barn!”

Sam didn’t question her, but wheeled to the door quickly. She followed. “What’s in the barn?”

“Our time capsule!” Marian walked quickly; Sam hurried to keep up, frowning. Normally everyone had to hurry to keep up with him. He wanted to protest when Marian looked back, as if suddenly remembering, and came around to push his chair, almost at a run. He said nothing, and just gritted his teeth, knowing his pride had to take a backseat to necessity. 

“Looking at your cast made me think of it,” Marian continued breathlessly. “Danny _does_ have a history with this place. Jack bought it when we were little, and they never lived here, but we used to play out here a lot, when Jack was fixing it up to rent. One summer, we were playing in the rafters of the barn, and Danny fell and broke his arm. That same summer, Aaron decided the three of us should make a time capsule. They did it in his class at school. Danny thought it would be funny to put his old cast in there, when he got it off. He was trying to make us feel guilty, like it was our fault he fell. There’d be lots of skin and stuff in the cast, right? Part of Danny!”

“Yes! You got it, Marian! Where’s the capsule?”

“Buried under a board in one of the old stalls. I can find it.”

But it turned out there was a lot of old junk in the barn, and as Marian was trying to clear it off the spot where the time capsule was buried, Danny showed up.

“Marian!” Sam shouted, and raised the gun she’d left with him—but Marian was between him and the ghost.

Marian surprised Sam again. The ghost held a lighter and a can of gasoline, but she didn’t even flinch. “You mean old devil!” she shouted. “When are you gonna learn you can’t push me around?” She grabbed the shovel she’d brought to dig up the capsule and swung it right through Danny, who shrieked and disappeared. 

But there must not have been enough iron in the shovel, because Danny was back almost immediately—and he wasted no time. He tossed his can of gasoline on the floor and threw the lighter on it. Flames erupted immediately.

“Hurry, Marian!” Sam shouted. She was digging now. Sam sprayed the fire extinguisher at the flames, but it barely slowed them down. Then it was empty. Sam could hear gleeful, ghostly cackling, and he coughed as smoke filled the barn. 

Marian gave a shout of triumph. “Got it!” she yelled, and tossed a wooden box to Sam. He opened it, noting the cast nestled among some other things, salted it—and threw it right into the flames. Danny shrieked, the malevolent sound scraping at Sam’s eardrums. Destroyed by his own fire—just like the first time. 

Marian was staggering—the smoke had filled the stall where she was working first—and she half-collapsed as she made it out of the stall. Sam wheeled forward just into time to land her in his lap. She passed out, draped over his shoulder. Sam gathered her close, balanced her as best he could, and then wheeled for all he was worth. Somehow, he made it to the door of the barn, and rolled the two of them a safe distance away.

He called 911 to report the fire, then called Dean to tell him what had happened. Dean arrived before the fire department did, just as Marian was coming around, still draped over Sam’s lap in the chair. She seemed embarrassed that she’d passed out, and resisted Dean’s efforts to help her into the house, which they hoped would be safe from the blaze.

“Not surprised you beat the fire department here,” she said to Dean, in a voice hoarse from the smoke. “It’s all volunteer out here. But I guess they won’t have to worry about Danny anymore. Finally.” 

She grinned at Sam, who grinned back. Case closed.

~* * *~

The fire department was able to control the blaze, so the house was saved. The only loss was Jack’s old barn. Marian had called Jack about it, and apparently he was pleased: the barn really wasn’t worth anything, but it was insured as part of the property, so Jack would get a nice payout for it. He planned to put the money into fixing up the farmhouse, building off of Dean’s efforts.

Dean drove Sam to the hospital, and they traded his wheelchair for crutches. He dropped Sam at home, saying he had to do some things around town. Sam knew he just didn’t want to hang around the farmhouse, because he was torn up about leaving.

Sam practiced with the crutches for a while. He was still weak, but he could feel his strength returning. Being able to do something useful— rescuing Marian even while confined to a wheelchair—had helped his confidence.

“Sam? Dean?” Marian’s voice drifted in from the front room.

“Hey, Marian,” he called, hobbling to the door of the bedroom.

“Just wanted to—oh. Well. Look at you.” She had stopped dead at the sight of him. Her eyes were slightly wide. Sam was reminded of the moment they’d met.

He grinned. “Yeah. It’s good to be upright again.” Marian just stood for a long moment, staring at him, until he shifted uncomfortably on his crutches. “What?” he asked finally.

Marian shook herself slightly. “Oh. Sorry. Nothin’. Just…. well, it’s obvious I guess; I never saw you standing up before. Didn’t know you were so tall.”

Sam smiled down at her. He found himself remembering how he’d pulled her onto his lap in the wheelchair… fondly. He was a bit surprised at himself, but he went with it.

“You seem to like Dean pretty well, so I guess you like a tall man,” he said.

“You make him look short!”

Sam laughed, a free and easy sound. “Yeah. He _hates_ that.”

“Bet he does,” Marian laughed.

There was another silence. Sam looked at Marian sidelong. She didn’t meet his eyes, and Sam felt a heavy sadness in her.

“He’s not here,” Sam said gently. “He sucks at goodbyes.”

She definitely looked disappointed, but she blustered through it. “Well. Can’t say I’m any too good at ‘em myself, but I did want to say it. Figured you boys would be movin’ on soon.”

“In the morning,” Sam confirmed. He gazed at her steadily.

Marian shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “You can pass on my thanks to him. I can’t say enough how grateful I am for what you boys did—”

“Marian,” Sam interrupted, treading carefully, “I don’t mean to… you know. Embarrass you or anything. But were you hoping Dean would—”

“Wasn’t hopin’ anything; I know better,” Marian said briskly. She turned away and busied herself gathering Dean’s scattered tools and placing them in the toolbox. Sam was silent. She glanced back at him, and sighed, straightening to face him. “Well. I guess I owe you a little more honesty than that. I’m not some naïve young thing; I knew we couldn’t… you know. Anything but real short-term. And I wasn’t even thinking that, really. I just…” She stopped, and Sam could see her struggle not to look embarrassed.

He leaned the crutch on his good side against the wall, freeing one hand. He leaned closer to her. “What?” he asked softly. When she didn’t answer immediately, he touched her arm, cupping her elbow.

Her eyes went to his hand, and she cleared her throat. “In a town like this, where I’ve known everyone all my life, you might expect it’s not often someone comes along that… well. I just thought, if I found my moment, maybe I could persuade him to kiss me.” Her jaw jutted out stubbornly, and she got a look in her eye that was becoming familiar to Sam—daring him to laugh at her, almost.

Sam smiled, hunching even closer. “It wouldn’t be hard,” he said. He hesitated, then touched her face gently. She looked up, startled. “I know I’m not Dean,” he murmured, “but maybe I’ll do.”

Her eyes went wide, and her brows climbed her forehead. Then she smiled mischievously. “Right nicely, I’d say,” she said, moving against him and circling his waist with her arms.

Sam drew her close with his free arm and kissed her gladly. She felt pleasantly strong in his arms, but her mouth was surprisingly sweet and soft. She hesitantly reached up to stroke his hair, and Sam liked the rough feel of her callused fingers brushing his neck. He kissed her longer than he’d planned to, reluctant to let go. He realized that in Marian, he felt the pull of this place: tough and sparse, yet so beautiful, simple but profound, symbolic of a deep peace that he would never know.

Marian sighed against his lips when they parted at last. “Well,” she chuckled, “lucky me. I bet you’re better at that than your brother.”

Sam laughed out loud. “Maybe I am,” he admitted.

They walked out to the front porch as the sun set. Something occurred to Sam that he’d wanted to ask her.

“When we first met, you got a weird look on your face when you saw me,” he said. “Like you were really surprised. What was that about?”

She thought for a moment, then laughed. “Well, it was a couple of things,” she said. “I never saw anyone as good-looking as you boys in this town before. So my first thought was ‘Damn. Two in one family!’”

Sam grinned bashfully, thoroughly flattered. Marian continued, “Also, from the way Dean talked about you, I was expecting a punk little teenager. Not a grown man, someone more thoughtful than his older brother. Didn’t expect to meet someone else I could really like and respect, I guess.”

“I didn’t really expect that here, either,” Sam said, smiling warmly at her.

They talked a bit more, but Marian left before the sadness could creep back in. “If you’re back in this area and you need anything, you know who to call,” she said cheerfully as she walked down the front steps. “You boys take care, now. Don’t get banged up by any more… kayaks.”

Sam laughed. “I’m gonna stay solidly armed against kayaks from now on,” he promised. 

~* * *~

The next morning, the Winchesters were up with the dawn and ready to go. Dean packed up all the tools and home improvement materials, but made no move to take them with him. “Guess I’ll leave this stuff for Marian,” he said, laying the Sawzall on the table rather tenderly. “We can’t really use most of it.”

“Maybe we can come back someday, Dean. You know. When all this is over.”

“Doubt it will ever be over for me, Sam.”

Sam couldn’t argue, but he didn’t miss the longing—and pride—in Dean’s eyes as they raked the façade he’d improved, and lingered on the ramp he’d built, while they loaded up the Impala. Sam felt his own longing rise as they drove down the dusty road toward the highway. 

Maybe they’d be back someday. Maybe not. But this tiny desert town had built a place in his heart, a refuge of deep silence and sparse, simple beauty, to which he knew he could always return.

 

~The End~


End file.
